


From Bleak to Bright

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, POV First Person, Personal Growth, mild depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 20:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: "After the war, I never pictured my life being this predictable, but I’ve fallen into something that is completely bleak, beige, and bland.  Blah."  A chance encounter slowly turns Pansy's world from bleak to bright.





	From Bleak to Bright

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the opening line from the song "Opening Up" from the Waitress: The Musical.

_The day starts like the rest we’ve seen, another carbon copy of an old routine.  Days keep coming – one out, one in, they keep coming. - Opening Up, Waitress the Musical_

 

After the war, I never pictured my life being this predictable, but I’ve fallen into something that is completely bleak, beige, and bland.  Blah.  I wake up at exactly 5:30 in the morning.  I’m in my running gear with my headphones in by 5:37 and make it around my usual path in exactly thirty minutes.  Straight ahead for two blocks, left turn, right turn, circle back through the park, and before I know it, I’m back at my front door.  I shed my running gear by 6:10 and am in and out of the shower.  I use the same body wash and shampoo that I’ve used for years.  I sometimes think of buying different scents when I’m at the store, but I never do.  I stick to the rosemary and mint that I’m accustomed to.  I dry my hair with my wand, tucking it into as tidy of a bun as I can adequately manage.  I’ve never been great with my hair charms, especially when it has been this long.  Maybe that’s something that has changed.  My hair is no longer the short bob I wore it in when I was younger.  I’m dressed in a simple black skirt (of which I own probably ten that look similar), a modest satin blouse in navy, indigo, or hunter green, and a pair of simple black heels – not too high or too low.  Today I went with hunter green.  It’s still dark and drab.

 

I’m out the door at precisely 7:15 every morning where I walk the six blocks to the Ministry, stopping in the coffee shop nearby to grab my usual.  The barista knows me by name and has it ready before I even walk in the door, so there’s no chance of me ever deviating on my routine.  I slip into the Ministry and am at my desk, clocked in, and looking over the stack of papers on my desk by 7:45 waiting for everyone else to saunter in at eight.  I keep my head down and do my work.  It’s a meaningless paper-pushing bureaucratic job, but it was the only one I could land after the war and I just never left.  When the Ministry seizes your family’s assets including your trust fund, you have to find some way to make ends meet. 

 

Zacharias Smith stops by my desk at exactly 10:15 in the morning to bring me a second coffee and attempt flirtation.  Honestly, I flirt with him so he will keep bringing me coffee.  At least he brings me something decent, not that swill they try and pass off as coffee around the office.  He’s off to his meeting and leaves me to my work.  I grab lunch in the Ministry Cafeteria at 11:30 and am back to pushing papers, reviewing applications, and reading over a bunch of useless documents by 12:00.  We could be so much more streamlined, but trying to modernize the ministry is like trying to make a flobberworm jump through a flaming hoop.  Here’s a hint – not going to happen.

 

At 1:30 Penelope Clearwater stops by my desk and makes small talk, while practically waving her engagement ring in her face, waiting for me to say something now that she’s engaged to Dean Thomas.  I don’t know why everyone liked her in school, she’s at least as vain as Daphne.  I keep my mouth shut and say the bare minimum so she’ll go away. 

 

I’m up from my desk at 4:30 to get signatures from my boss, Justin Finch-Fletchley.  Fletch isn’t too bad, considering the others who I interact with during the day.  He’s efficient, fair, and started around the same time I did.  Oh wait, I didn’t mention he got the promotion over me, did I?  Well, he did, even though I was equally qualified.  Apparently, no one wants a Death Eater’s daughter running a Ministry Department.  Ever.  He smiles at me kindly and signs the papers I have for him and shoos me out of his office with a “see you tomorrow, darlin’.”  I hate it when he calls me that.  Otherwise, he’s not too bad. 

 

I jump on the lifts and am on my way back to my tidy apartment at 5:00 pm.  From there, I make dinner, slip into my pajamas, turn on the wireless, and dread doing it again tomorrow.  I hate my life.

 

……….

 

I wake up the next morning and start my routine.  Running, shower, dressed, and out the door, precisely on schedule.  The only unexpected thing about today is that it’s raining and given that I need to trek through muggle London to get to my job, I grab my umbrella which always sits in a simple stand next to the door.  Predictable. 

 

I start my walk to the ministry and find my usual cup of coffee waiting for me.  I pay for it, thank the barista, and slip out of the door.  But instead of continuing my journey, like normal, I run straight into a set of lanky arms attached to a broad chest which is attached to a very apologetic man.  He smells like earth, leather, vanilla, and grass and I’m momentarily distracted by this new and intoxicating scent until I realize that my chest is on fire and my coffee has been spilled down my blouse.  I wince and mutter a string of obscenities, wanting desperately to duck into a secluded alleyway and see how bad the burn damage is.

 

“Oh shit.”  I hear him say in a deep, husky voice.  “I am so incredibly sorry.  Are you okay?” 

 

“It’s fine.”  I mutter, trying to move past him but he stands firm and brazenly grabs me by the wrist. 

  
“Let me at least buy you another coffee.”  He starts, but then his eyes meet mine and I see his widen in shock as he recognizes me.  “P-Pansy?  Pansy Parkinson?”  I recognize him too.  He’s someone I went to school with, but we weren’t in the same house.  He ran that student resistance against the Carrows in seventh year and had some kind of odd last name.  Longbottom, I remember, but I can’t for the life me recall his first name.  Not that it matters, I’m sure I’ll never see him again after today.

 

I look down at his hand as he grips my wrist and back up to his eyes.  He drops my arm and apologizes again.  “I don’t know if you remember me.  I’m Neville.  Neville Longbottom.” 

 

Neville.  Another somewhat unfortunate and archaic name. Wizards aren’t known for their modernity.  My mother practically broke the mold naming me after her favorite flower, then again, her name is Violet and my sister’s name is Marigold.  How predictable for the females in our family to be named after flowers.  I take it back – she just followed another archaic tradition. 

 

I give him a simple nod, though I’m starting to get irritated.  My entire routine is being thrown off and now I need more coffee.  I won’t be able to make it through my morning without it. 

 

He runs his hand over the back of his head in some sort of nervous switch as both of us stand there like idiots under our umbrellas in the middle of a spring rainstorm.   Why is he even nervous?  Oh wait, Death Eater’s Daughter. “Please let me buy you another coffee, Pansy. It’s the least I can do.”  He almost pleads.

 

I don’t know why he is so insistent on replacing my coffee and staying in my presence longer than necessary, but I acquiesce and we walk into the coffee shop.  Adrian, the barista, asks if I want my usual and I just nod.  Clearly, I’m too much of a _pansy_ to even change my coffee order given the opportunity to do so.  I guess my mother named me well.  Have I mentioned how much I hate my life? I used to be vibrant, colorful, and bright.  Now, I’m nothing but boring, beige, and bleak.

 

Adrian hands me my coffee and Neville pays for mine as well as the one he ordered.  He asks me where I’m headed as we walk out of the shop.  He held the door open for me, and I feel grateful someone taught him some manners.  I tell him where I work and he insists on accompanying me to the Ministry.  I stay quiet on the walk because I really don’t know what to say, but he fills the silence, saying he’s contracting with the Department of Research and Review for a project related to something to do with plants.  That would explain why he smells like earth and grass.  He’s a herbologist.

 

We part at the lifts and I mutter a goodbye before carrying on with my day that I completely miss the lingering look he gives me when I turn around. 

 

……….

 

 

A week goes by and the routine is the same.  Wake up, run, shower, dress, and out the door.  Only this time when I stop for coffee, Neville is waiting for me with my usual order in hand and Adrian gives me a wink, which he has never, never done before.  I deviate from my usual neutral expression and arch a brow.

 

“I hope I got it right.”  He says as he passes me the steaming cup. 

 

I breathe in the steam and smell the familiar hazelnut blend and nod.  “You did.” I add a “thank you” as well because my mother didn’t teach me manners for me to forget to use them.  She was very strict that way.  It was no use being a prim and proper pureblood girl if you didn’t act like one – strictly to catch a husband, I assure you.  Bollocks to that.  Death Eater’s daughter, remember?

 

Neville insists on walking with me to the Ministry and prattles on about his latest research project which I don’t understand at all, I was never proficient at Herbology, but I smile and nod politely and pretend to be interested, much as I do with Zacharias, though with Neville it’s not nearly as forced.  He’s actually quite good looking, even if he towers over me, though I’m not particularly short myself.  His hair an earthy shade of brown and his cheeks are grazed with a slight stubble while his brown eyes are flecked with green which contrasts nicely with his tanned skin from what I assume is from hours spent in the sun, cultivating plants. 

 

I couldn’t tan to save my life.  I’ve always been pale (which my mother somehow considers a desirable trait), but probably moreso lately given how much I stay indoors – never running before the sun rises and only walking to and from work for a short amount of time.  When I look in the mirror, I see my routines reflected in me.  The only time my cheeks shine with any color is when I’ve returned from my morning runs.  My blue eyes are a dull, muddled shade and my dark brown hair is flat and limp.  I’m just as bleak and beige as my life. 

 

“Tell me what you do in the Ministry?”  I hear him say after a while.  I must’ve zoned out because we’re almost there and I hadn’t noticed. 

 

“I a Junior Associate in the Department of Licensing and Regulation.”  I mumble.  I’ve never been particularly proud of my job but if I were to change, I have no idea what I would want to do with my life.  I don’t think I’m good at much.  My grades in school were passable but were nothing compared to Draco or Granger.   The only “O” I managed to receive when I finally took my N.E.W.T.s was for Charms, though I still can’t manage many beauty charms. I can almost hear the taunts from my days at school.  _Poor, pitiful, plain, pug-faced Pansy Parkinson._   That was when they weren’t calling me a slag for constantly being near Draco when my parents were going through their divorce.   My best friend is the only thing that kept me sane during that time and our close friendship got turned into something much more sordid by the gossip hounds. 

 

“That sounds terribly dull.”  He says, unapologetically. 

 

“It is.”  I agree with a frown.  I hate my job.

 

“So, why don’t you quit?”

 

I stop in the middle of the street and stare at him as if he’s grown too many heads like that awful dog-thing the groundskeeper used to let run around when he thought the Headmaster wasn’t looking. 

 

“I’m not qualified for much else.”  I settle on, deciding to neglect the typical Death Eater’s daughter excuse that I tell myself. 

 

“Surely there’s something you’re passionate about?” 

 

The only thing I’ve ever really done with any amount of passion is cook.  I used to spend hours learning from our House Elves until my mother found out where I ran off to when the governess let it slip that she didn’t know where I was.  She didn’t like me and didn’t mind that I skipped out on lessons as long as I was back in time to be presented to my parents during afternoon tea.  It was at that point mother forced me to learn how to play piano and learn French to take up more time and the lessons from the elves diminished significantly.  I cook for myself, but it’s rarely anything elaborate these days.

 

“I don’t know.”  I end up responding, unsure of what to say to this random man who has intruded upon my daily commute twice now.  “I guess I like to cook.” 

 

“Have you thought about opening a restaurant?”  He asks, before ushering me into the building we use to floo into the Ministry – at least they decided to replace those awful public toilets last year that everyone had to use to floo in.

 

“No.”  I say without further elaboration.  He doesn’t need to know that my meager salary can barely pay my bills much less allow me to save for something so extravagant. 

 

We step through the floo and we’re in the lobby of the Ministry in the blink of an eye.  I siphon off the soot from my black skirt, indigo blouse, and simple black robes as Neville does the same to his clothing.  I start to bid him farewell and make my way to the lifts, but he grasps my hand to keep me from going anywhere. 

 

“Come to dinner with me.”  He says and I can tell he’s nervous about asking me the question.  Why he wants to take me to dinner is beyond me.  This is only the second time we’ve spoken apart from maybe some exchanged words back in school, but I honestly can’t remember.  I’ve blocked out a lot of my school years because most of the memories are painful. 

 

“Yeah, okay.” I respond after thinking it over for a minute and a strange feeling forms in my abdomen.  Anticipation, maybe?  I’m honestly not sure. 

 

His face breaks into a smile and he lifts my hand to his lips and feathers a kiss against my knuckles which leaves my cheeks slightly flushed, like I’ve been running.  Only I haven’t been running, but I feel the same breathlessness when his lips touch my hand as I do after running for thirty minutes.  It’s a spark of color in my bleak little world.

 

“I’ll meet you at the coffee shop at 6:00, is that okay?” 

 

Smiling a bit, I give him a nod and I can see his eyes looking at the flush adorning my cheeks.  “I’ll see you then.”  I say and turn towards the lift which will take me back to the job I hate.  I know the day will only pass by more slowly.  For the first time in years, I have something to look forward to – another break in my routine.  I have a date with a herbologist. 

 

……….

 

 

I meet him outside of the coffee shop in a simple royal blue cocktail dress that’s not too casual or too formal since he didn’t tell me where we would be going.  When I saw myself in the mirror, I noticed that there were tiny flecks of silver in my normally dull blue eyes.  It must be an illusion created by the dress.  Rather than tucking my hair up in my normal bun for work, I leave it loose and it hangs rather limply down my back.  I didn’t even bother attempting a curling charm when I know it would leave my hair frizzy at best.

 

He greets me with a smile and tells me I look lovely.  I nearly snort in his face but remember my manners instead.  Mother would be proud.  Instead I simply pinch my lips together in a tight smile and incline my head.  He takes it as a positive and we start off down the street.

 

We approach a tidy, modern looking building and he opens the door allowing me to pass through.  Placing his hand at the small of my back, we follow the hostess to a private table near the back of the busy restaurant.  I’m not used to close contact with anyone and the feel of his hand on my back makes my head spin.  He pulls my chair out for me and waits until I’m seated before slipping into the chair across from mine. 

 

We make small talk and I find myself smiling and laughing more than usual.  Despite being quite handsome, Neville also has a somewhat quirky sense of humor that I manage to find endearing.  I find that talking to him is easy, especially with a glass of wine in my hand and that I’m thoroughly enjoying having dinner with this man who burned me with my own coffee.

 

Dinner goes by more quickly than I anticipated and I find myself wanting to extend the night which seems to be rapidly ending.  As we walk out of the restaurant and back towards the coffee shop, I slip my hand in Neville’s.  He stops midsentence to smile at me before picking right up where he left off, telling me about his research which entails determining the properties of a new plant which was discovered growing under three feet of snow in the alps.  I’m fascinated by the sound of his voice which rugged and kind, despite the fact that I barely understand what he’s talking about.  I think I just managed an Acceptable on my Herbology N.E.W.T. 

 

We end up in front of the coffee shop entirely too quickly for my taste, but I don’t say anything.  He looks like he is having a good time with me, but I don’t want to make any assumptions.  I’ve learned that those only get one into trouble and it’s best to sit back and be cautious.  Self-preservation and all of that other nonsense.

 

“I had a great time tonight, Pansy.”  He says, smiling down at me and I notice just how white and straight his teeth are. 

 

I manage a small smile and agree with him.  “I did too.” 

 

“Can I see you again?” He asks, his voice wavering with slight uncertainty. 

 

I nod and squeeze the hand I’m still holding.  “I would like that.” 

 

My breath catches as I feel him peck my cheek and my world suddenly bursts into brilliant color, though I know tomorrow it will go back to brackish, blank, and bereft of anything resembling the tantalizing shades dancing in front of my vision at this moment. 

 

“I’ll owl you?”  He asks and I barely manage a nod. 

 

He released my hand and we part with fond good-byes and I begrudgingly head back to my apartment.  Rather than slipping into my pajamas as soon as I walk through the door, I pull my apron on over my dress and decide to bake.  Another break in the routine.

 

……….

 

 

I place a few of the chocolate chip cookies I made last night into a small tin before popping one in my mouth, indulging myself in the sweetness before it’s time to leave for work.  I had another break in my routine this morning – apart from the sinfully sweet cookie.  I didn’t run through the park, but extended by run by another ten minutes by running near the hardware store and the school.  It wasn’t any more interesting than my usual route, but I found it cathartic when I broke the routine.  Maybe the magic didn’t die last night when we separated?  The sky is certainly colorful this morning.

 

I’m disappointed to see he’s not at the coffee shop when I grab my coffee from Adrian and my partially colorful day starts to retreat back to its normal beige existence.  I floo into the Ministry with my neutral expression masking my disappointment and step onto the lifts, begrudgingly pushing the button that will take me to my low-paying, dead end job that I hate.  _It pays the bills._ I tell myself, having learned how important money really is when you go from quite wealthy to below the poverty line when the Ministry insists your family pay reparations due to the mistake of one.  Even though mother and father were divorced during the second rise of the Dark Lord, we all got dragged down by my father’s foolish pursuits.

 

I end up at my desk and shrug off my practical black robes and hang them on the nearby hook before I notice the small bouquet of multicolored pansies wrapped with a red ribbon sitting in the middle of my desk.  I nearly squeal in excitement picking them up off of my desk and barely notice the note tucked beneath.  The handwriting is a sharp and jagged print that is the farthest thing possible from my perfected cursive. 

 

_Had a breakthrough in the lab with the Snowbloom Tansy early this morning and couldn’t leave to meet you for coffee. Dinner tomorrow?_

_-Nev_

I stare at the parchment and memorize the shape and feel of each letter and word.  True to his word, he wants to see me again and my world bursts back into color.  I scribble a reply, boldly inviting him for dinner at my apartment, attach it to the small tin of chocolate chip cookies I brought and send it off through the network of tubes addressed to Neville Longbottom.  It’s too heavy to send through an interoffice memo and we don’t use owls anymore.  Thank Merlin.  The mess and smell was unbearable.

 

I shoo Zacharias away as soon as he’s given me my second cup of coffee.  The lack of flirtation on my part may cost me another coffee tomorrow, but I don’t care.  When Clearwater drops by, I finally remark on her engagement ring and she bounces off sooner than expected, which I eternally grateful for.  I grab Fletch’s signatures and nearly skip out of the office.  I’m so oblivious walking out of the lifts as I plan tomorrow night’s dinner in my head that I manage to run straight into a pair of lanky arms attached to a broad chest smelling of sunshine, leather, and honey.  Instead of stepping back, like I know I should, I melt into his warmth and feel his arms wrap around me.  This feeling is almost better than the colorful-firework-inducing kiss on my cheek last night. 

 

“So sorry.” I apologize with a smile, not daring to move let he think I want him to release me. 

 

I hear a low chuckle as his arms tighten around me, pressing me against him and I find myself swimming in a myriad of color.  The normally drab walls of the ministry are flickering brilliantly in the candle light bathing the walls in yellow-orange hues.  The soft pink of Neville’s shirt pops against the navy coloring of his robes.  His touch seems to make my entire world come alive. 

 

“We have to stop running into each other, Pansy.” 

 

“At least there’s no coffee this time.”  I hear myself teasing.  What is wrong with me?  I’ve never been one to be playful, but this man brings out a completely different side of me and we’ve only been on one date.  Am I sick?  Did one of his weird plants release a spore that somehow made it into my body? 

 

The colors fade, but only slightly, as he releases me from the embrace and escorts me over to one of floo gates.  I bid him goodbye with a smile and tell him I’ll send him my information tomorrow about getting to my apartment before I step into the floo.  His brilliant brown eyes are the last thing I see before I’m whisked away.

 

……….

 

 

I’ve prepared probably more food than is necessary for two people, but being that today is Saturday, I had the entire day to make whatever I wanted.  I hear the knock on the door, he’s right on time, and I tug off my apron, hanging it on the hook where it usually stays.  I smooth my dress and take a deep breath while walking the short distance to open the door.  When the door swings open, he’s standing there looking completely dashing holding a bottle of wine with a huge smile on his face.  He must’ve had some good news because I’m not fairly certain that smile isn’t for me.  Right? 

 

He tells me how lovely I look and I sort of believe him this time.  I’m wearing my favorite dress after all, the one that is a periwinkle blue base dotted with thousands of tiny flowers.  I take the wine, he kisses my cheek and then he’s in my flat and the possibilities start to swim in my head.  I’ve never really dated since the end of the war, mainly because no one wants the person who tried to hand over Harry Potter to the Dark Lord, not to mention (again) my father’s affiliations with that mad man.  I realize this is the first time I’ve ever had someone I’m dating in my flat and I need some wine. 

 

I usher him into the kitchen and set the bottle to uncork with my wand, pouring a glass for each of us.  He raise his glass to me and we toast in silence and smiles.  I toast to breaking my established routines and finally living a little.  Who knows what he toasts to?  Whatever it is, he seems quite happy to sit there and watch me put the finishing touches on everything I’ve cooked. 

 

We settle down to our first course which is a simple caesar salad, but I did make the dressing from scratch as well as the croutons from the bread I baked when I woke up this morning. There is nothing better than freshly baked bread, am I right? He talks about his friends a bit to make conversation and I’m suddenly reminded he was in Gryffindor and everyone he’s friends with probably hates me.  Except for maybe Granger who somehow ended up engaged to Draco.  If she can forgive him for all of his trespasses, perhaps there’s a chance for me.

 

For our entrée, I roasted a chicken with lemon, rosemary and other herbs. It’s paired with roasted potatoes and broccoli sautéed with garlic and balsamic.  I love garlic, even though it does unfortunate things to one’s breath but it has to be my favorite flavor of all time.  Neville seems like to like too.  He’s complimented my food no less than five times and makes these swooning noises as he eats which make a heat pool in my abdomen. 

 

While I find myself wishing that we can have each other for dessert, that’s not the case as I’ve baked a chocolate cake from my file of Grandmother’s recipes.  It’s decadent and sinful and has been my favorite since I can remember. 

 

“You’re amazing, you know that?”  He says after a while. 

 

“Oh… um.”  I respond, unsure of what to say.  We all know that I don’t have the most positive image of myself and I’ve always sucked at taking compliments. 

 

“I mean it.”  He affirms, taking my hand and starts rattling off my supposedly good qualities, telling me things like I’m beautiful and that this was the best meal he’s had in his entire life.  I don’t know what to do with this man.  Doesn’t he know who I am? What I’ve done?  What my father did? 

 

My head is swimming with all of the wonderful things he’s said about me and the next thing I know, I’m leaning over and kissing him to stop him from talking.  It’s sweet, simple, and doesn’t last long, but the contact of our lips alights my world in color once more bringing a bit of brightness back.  I feel like I’m on cloud nine when we break apart, our faces both flushed from my action. 

 

……….

 

 

While my days often start the same, my mornings, afternoons, and evenings are suddenly varied and filled with promises of a better tomorrow.  A month after dating my charming herbologist, I realize I’m not dressing the same drab black skirt, black robes, and muted blouse day in and day out when I go into work.  I still hate my job, but that can’t be helped.  After two months, I realize there’s a permanent flush to my cheeks and I find myself smiling more than simply staying neutral.  Three months pass and I’ve met his friends and they seem to have forgiven me for my past transgressions and I form a rather close friendship with Hannah Abbott who is a Hufflepuff to her core, but I find that rather endearing. 

 

When we hit four months together, I know that my world is irreparably changed.  While while we’re slow-dancing in his backyard after an amazing meal I cooked for us, Neville pulls me into his chest and tells me that he loves me.  I’m not at all surprised when I say it back through tear-filled eyes because it’s the absolute truth.  I love this man with every fiber of my being.  I’ve never been so blissfully happy in my entire life than when I am in the arms of my herbologist, who took the time and had the patience to cultivate a dying flower into something beautiful and bright.


End file.
